Broken
by vesmolol - Vesa Hautaniemi
Summary: What is life like for a discharged MEC trooper after the Alien War? What is there left for someone who has sacrificed everything for the cause? Broken follows MSGT Renzol as she battles depression after years spent fighting the aliens. This is a continuation to my earlier story Alive and Impossible, but stands on its own two feet for new readers as well.
1. Chapter 1

Broken

Chapter 1

21st of October 2016, Chicago, Illinois

Mechanized Exoskeletal Cybersuit (MEC) Trooper Master Class Renzol (Discharged, Medical)

The musty scent of dried sweat permeated the bedroom. Dirty glasses littered the nightstand. Black garbage bags covered the windows. A sliver of dead October light flickered through where the tape had come loose, making dust dance in the dull cold rays. Baggy clothes buried a wooden chair in the corner, and a shapeless heap that was the blanket covered the foot of the bed.

She lay on the bed, clad in military issued skivvies. A sliver of light landed on her figure, striking a dull reflection. Where her limbs should have been there was only cold metal. Mock thighs and arms mimicked human bone structure, padded gyros served as knees and elbows, and hard shins ended in permanent boots of metal. The only difference was her hands. They were deft and well-defined, made of soft grey synthetics and retaining the tactile response of flesh and skin. The marks of someone who had sacrificed everything in the name of victory.

Sky blue eyes stared into nothingness. The woman's features were sharp and uncomely, something many would describe as plain. Her cheeks were sunken and hollow, unhealthily so, and further accented by high cheekbones. Her shoulder-length blonde hair was greasy and tangled, sticking to her face in messy locks.

Renzol's chest heaved. She reached deep to find the strength to face another day. With a labored sigh she pushed herself up. Pain responded. Searing agony bloomed in the flesh of her right shoulder, sending spikes of nerve pain down an arm where pain should have no longer existed. The arm convulsed, nearly sending her spilling out of the bed. She clawed at the seam where her flesh connected with metal. The torment brought to life her long gone arm; phantom pain of the limb she was born with, that she was supposed to have, that she had given willingly.

She bit down hard and screamed.

The convulsion could have lasted a minute or an hour. By the time the pain receded, Renzol was panting frantically and drenched in cold sweat. Nausea churned her stomach, climbing slow and steady up her gullet. The cybernetic interface in her shoulder ached with a dull fire, but at least the convulsions were over. For now.

Renzol gagged, her nausea demanding acknowledgment. She made for the bathroom but her augments refused to cooperate, one massive leg crashing into the other. The impact of her fall shook the floor, and her metal knees left new scars in the carpeting. Another gag, and bitter bile filled her mouth. She found her feet and barged through the bathroom door.

Stomach fluids and bile acids surged into the shower. Renzol's flesh trembled. Sweat dripped from her brow as heat roiled over her in waves. A deep, violent retch left her throat but nothing more came up. She fumbled blindly for the dial and a torrent of ice cold water came down on her. The shock pulled her back from the brink of unconsciousness. She leaned against the porcelain insert of her tub, wiping at her mouth. Dark liquid swirled around in the stream of the shower. The nausea was gone, but the ache remained.

Renzol spat the sick taste out of her mouth. She hated it: her sickness, the tiny apartment, the broken tiles of the bathroom, all of it. Her throat tightened. The beat of the freezing water made her shiver, and her anger burned into coals of despair, and the despair crumbled into numb acceptance.

Her eyes came across a shard of glass on the cracked tiles. She had broken the mirror above the sink ages ago, but she still found pieces of it here and there. Sometimes, she thought of clearing out the rest of them. But in the end, she never did. Another reminder of her past.

 _I deserve it,_ she thought, _I deserve it all._

Once she had been strong like no one else. All the horrors of the war, the deaths of her comrades and pent up emotions hadn't been enough to break her. She had channeled them all within, locking them away inside a mental box. She had been unbreakable.

It had all been a lie. Renzol knew that now. The moment of truth had occurred just over seven months earlier.

* * *

XCOM Asia HQ

Eight months earlier

The auditorium was filled with excited and nervous chatter. Friends and comrades speculated over the reason of the meeting. Orgun's Irish accent rose above the chatter: "I'm tellin' ya! 'Tis a call for stand down! We've kicked t'buggers right off our rock!"

Kilroy turned on the rocketeer, her brunette ponytail bobbing with the motion. "Shut the fuck up you inbred! Don't jinx it!"

Drake's brow was furrowed above her eyepatch. The Indian-American agreed with the woman she called sister, "And if it's a second wave, you'll look real smart Orgun."

Orgun laughed. "Ye'll see, Debbie Downer! Trust good ol' Uncle Orgun on this one!"

The chatter halted with a call of " _Ten-chut_!" as Captain Medve entered the room. Seats slapped against their backrests as operatives jumped to attention. The officer turned to face the rising rows of seats, his face all business.

"Commander on deck!" the Captain barked, whipping up a crisp salute.

Commander Awo entered the room. He was neatly groomed and wore a pressed officer's uniform, but there was a slight limp to his stride. He returned Captain Medve's salute while Colonel Van Doorn followed behind. Awo stepped up to the podium and turned to face the operatives.

"At ease, XCOM."

The soldiers promptly seated themselves, tense. The room was holding its unanimous breath.

"At 2000 hours, we received new orders direct from the Council."

Operatives leaned forward in anticipation, backs straight and fists drilling hard into their knees. A grin broke Awo's face.

"XCOM is to stand down to condition two."

Deafening cheers filled the auditorium as people jumped up and grabbed their neighbors. Kilroy screamed and leapt at Drake, and the caramel-skinned assault barely caught her sister. Kilroy's hands closed behind Orgun's neck and she pulled him into the group hug, starting the steady chant of "Fuck aliens!" that was quickly joined by Orgun and Drake and the rest.

The long wait was finally over. Down at the front, Awo laughed as Van Doorn grabbed him in a bear hug. The two leaders slammed each other in the back, harder with every hit. Operatives cheered, laughed, and cried in joy as the long war was finally at an end. Everyone except Renzol.

The MEC trooper sat in the back row. Her fingers clutched tight at her mechanized thighs. She was shell-shocked. _Over. It's finally over._ She couldn't comprehend the thought. She had been certain the enemy would return; a second wave to wipe them all out if they weren't prepared. That's why she had kept up her training. Where others had complained over the increased training workload, Renzol had only grown sharper and sterner.

Kilroy's excited face appeared in her vision. "We won, Renzol! We fucking won! Get up and celebrate you magnificent, stone-faced bitch! _Woooooo!_ " Kilroy jumped up on the table and pumped her fists wildly, any semblance of protocol gone with the news.

 _I have to get out of here,_ Renzol thought. She stepped out into the aisle and exited through the top, slamming the heavy reinforced door shut behind her.

The riotous merriment was left behind as she hurried through the corridors. The news echoed in her head, driving her on ever faster.

 _It's not over yet. It's a trick_ , she denied, unable to accept the truth.

Renzol didn't understand. She had dedicated all of herself to the cause: she was a living weapon, shaped in mind and body to kill alien life come to eradicate humanity. It couldn't be over.

 _Isn't this what I've been fighting for?_

The thought brought her to a halt. A familiar uncertainty had settled in the pit of her stomach. The anxiety that she had banished ages ago was back, eating away at her from the inside. Rising panic threatened to take over.

Renzol broke into a run towards the access lift. She had to drown the anxiety. The personnel elevator took her down into the bottom level where the MEC trooper training grounds resided.

The training complex was empty. The control room behind the glass was supposed to be manned by at least one technician at all hours. Anger flashed hot within Renzol.

 _How can they abandon their post? What if there's an attack?_

She grasped onto the thought like it would save her from drowning. She couldn't accept it. It wasn't over yet.

She stayed in the training complex for an hour, hoping a technician would show up. The MEC training suits stood at their assembly stations. Renzol ran her fingers over the armor; they weren't the cybersuits she had used out in the field, but she knew them inside-out regardless. They were the peak of bio-cybernetic engineering: the bulwarks of XCOM and Earth, killing machines created and fitted just for her. Their presence gave her solace and purpose.

 _This is all I ever wanted to be_.

No technician answered her pages. Eventually Renzol conceded and left the training grounds. She needed the help of a technician to suit up, but the time spent in the mere presence of the cybersuits had calmed her down. The panic had disappeared, and the anxiety was but a distant ache in her chest.

 _I just have to do it like I always do._

The barracks was empty. The celebration in the operative's mess would continue for hours, maybe even days. Renzol made her way to the MEC trooper's quarters. She entered her austere chamber and placed herself in front of the covered mirror. The burlap cloth came off, and she folded it away onto the table like she did every night. It was getting late. She couldn't afford to miss her meditation and give in to everyone's fantasy that they were safe.

Five dents graced the unbroken surface of the mirror. Renzol breathed deep and relaxed herself. She raised her right hand and placed it on the mirror. The sensation of cool glass on synthetic fingertips always made her scalp tingle. It had become like a drug to her. She began slowly pressing on the mirror.

 _How far can you push something before it breaks?_

She had pushed herself so far, surviving through countless deadly operations where others had not.

 _I'm strong. I'm unbreakable_.

She increased the pressure, making the glass groan quietly.

 _Why are you still fighting? It's over._ Renzol's heart skipped a beat. She hadn't heard that cold voice in a long time. She first thought it was Sergeant Foogleman, but she knew better. It was the Box. Her gut tightened into a knot. The glass creaked.

A jagged scar broke the surface of the mirror, cutting her reflection in two. Renzol's eyes widened.

 _No. It's not possible._

She denied the truth. The muscles in her shoulder trembled, shaking her metal arm. The pressure grew, and more and more cracks appeared in the mirror.

 _This isn't happening. It's not possible, I don't believe it._

Her nostrils flared. Unable to stop herself anymore, she pushed harder.

The mirror shattered. Thousands of tiny shards were released as what was once whole was broken. The glass would have sliced open a hand of flesh, but it merely clinked and danced over Renzol's synthetic fingers. She watched her reflection fall away. Only an untreated wooden backing stared back at her.

Renzol stood amidst the remnants of the mirror, her mind blank. She looked down at her hand. There was no blood. Of course there wasn't. She had willingly replaced her flesh and blood with metal.

She trembled. "I have to fix it", she muttered aloud as the panic rose. She fell to her knees and began picking up the pieces, but they were beyond counting. It couldn't be done. There was no longer putting back together what was broken.

" _Because you're my best friend,"_ Cell's words rang in her mind. The glass shards slipped through Renzol's fingers.

"No, you're not here. You're gone. The Box took you," she said, her rising voice full of fear.

Renzol saw Cell lying down at Delta Section, saw her broken arm and grisly shoulder splattered bright with fresh blood. She saw Hunterhr, sprawled across the cold floor of the Overseer, with tufts of hair and bone shards stuck to the open wound on his temple.

She saw Atlanton's smiling face as the blonde girl leaned over from her top bunk in jest. She heard dull strikes land on a punching bag as Foogleman sparred deep into the night with her all those months ago. She saw Hawkeye hit the ground under an endless wave of assaulting floaters; she saw Frag smile down at her in the Skyranger, reassuring her before his final operation.

A dark ocean crashed down on her as all barriers were torn down. Renzol screamed.

The Box was broken.

* * *

Renzol shivered uncontrollably as the cold water from the shower drew the heat out of her steel augments. Icy knives thrust into aching seams where flesh melded with metal. She slapped at the water dial, nearly tearing the plumbing out of the wall.

In the aftermath of her convulsion the darkness inside became endless. She lied in the shower, looking for an excuse to go on. The cold seeping into her bones was finally enough and she began to stand up. Something caught her eye.

A white medical bottle rested between the toilet and the wall. The phantom pain flared again, almost gentle this time compared to the intensity of the previous attack. The tissue surrounding the cybernetic interface was inflamed and swelling. Renzol didn't remember when the bottle had rolled there; it could've been yesterday. Or last week. Or last month. The drugs would help with cybernetic rejection syndrome, but only if taken regularly. On good days Renzol took her medicine, although she couldn't remember the last time she had strung more than two good days together. A spark of desperate hope lit within.

 _Go on, take it. Fix yourself. Live again._

The cold, mocking voice of what remained of the Box extinguished that spark.

 _No. I deserve this._

A welling whirlpool of dark emotions occupied the place inside her where the Box had once resided. From the depths, a tidal wave carrying the faces of the dead swept her away.

Frag. She had let him die, there was no way around that truth. If she hadn't been so incompetent back then, all would have been different.

Foogleman. Renzol had so badly wanted to be strong like the hard-ass sergeant. If she was to see her now… Renzol squeezed her eyes shut, but she couldn't hide from the leering phantom.

Hunterhr. She had refused his love, never even attending his funeral. The gentle man had deserved so much more from life.

Cell. Renzol had let the gunner die without ever telling her how much their friendship had meant to her. Cell had been her best friend; her only friend.

Renzol slumped down in the shower. Sorrow and guilt crushed her heart until nothing else remained. She had let down every last one of them.

Self-blame led to guilt. Guilt led to shame. Shame led to worthlessness. And worthlessness made her blame herself for it all, starting the never-ending circle anew again.

Quiet sobbing filled the bathroom. Renzol hated crying: it was the ultimate admission of weakness. She knew she had nothing left, but the empty shell she had become refused to let go of what she had once been. She wept silently for a while longer: the panic attack had subsided, and the memories had retreated back into the depths of the ocean. For now.

Renzol pushed herself up and peeled off her drenched clothes. She floated through the rest of her morning routine like a wraith before returning to the bedroom. There she changed into civvies; a pair of baggy blue jeans and an XL-sized hoodie. They looked awful on her, but at least they let her move about rather comfortably. And they concealed her limbs, not that she had any intention of going outside.

The hallway clock ticked on, its arms pointing to half past noon. Unopened letters lay in a pile by the front door. Dirty dishes littered the kitchen counters, a few plates even spilling over to the floor. Both the hallway and the kitchen opened into a tiny living room where the only pieces of furniture were a brown recliner and a small coffee table by its side. A flat screen television stood on a stand against the wall.

Renzol collapsed into the chair. She wasn't hungry at all; she put it down as one of the few pros of her augmentation. She turned to Netflix, a service she had spent countless of hours on. Sometimes, she would notice shows and movies in her history that she had no recollection of. Staring at the screen was the simplest means of escapism for her.

Today, Renzol found no respite in the red menus. She flicked through the pages: hundreds of shows and movies at her disposal, yet she couldn't find anything to watch. Eventually she gave up and switched to her cable subscription. A news talk show was on, and a female anchor smiled warmly at the camera.

"…With three weeks until the Third Quarterly Earth Independence Day, we will continue the countdown to the grand celebration with another interview of Earth's heroes. It is my absolute pleasure to welcome the Commander of XCOM himself! Commander Awo, welcome to the show."

The camera shifted to reveal Awo, sitting in a chair opposite the woman. The Commander was dressed in a neatly pressed uniform, and his chest was decorated by a plethora of bars and medals. "Thank you for having me," he said.

Their voices faded away as Renzol stared at the screen. Awo's hair was streaked with gray, and his right hand grasped a cane with a handle of solid silver. He shifted his legs, and the way his pants wrapped around his right leg caught Renzol's eye.

 _They had to amputate after all,_ she thought.

Then highest ranking officer, Awo had taken command after the devastating attack on XCOM's headquarters had claimed the life of the Commander. Awo had given his everything, pushing his body beyond its limits. Yet here he was, broadcast to millions on national TV, smiling and answering the questions with somewhat clumsy yet honest diligence. The screen went dark.

 _I'll never compare to him,_ Renzol thought.

A churning rumble brought her back from her thoughts, and she pushed herself up and headed for the fridge.

Leftover chicken teriyaki. Renzol sighed in relief. She was in no condition to interact with people today; it was either leftovers or nothing. She scraped the remains onto a plate and shoved it in the microwave. The dirty takeout box bounced off the full bin and landed on the floor, awaiting some distant future when she felt like taking out the trash.

Renzol took her meal to the table by the window. The food was hot but she didn't have the taste for it anymore. Regardless, she managed to eat with mechanistic efficiency, feeding her body the energy it required.

She stared at the garbage bags covering the kitchen window. The sudden embarrassment of how well Awo handled his TV appearance struck her in what little remained of her pride. She tore down the bags.

It was raining outside in the Chicago apartment complex. An impenetrable ceiling of steely clouds hung overhead. Icy drizzle fell on the small playground outside in the yard.

Her apartment resided on the second floor. Renzol found herself staring out into the yard. A pair of kids returning home from school pointed up at her window and she recoiled away as if they had weapons.

Something deep inside Renzol's chest shifted; something lost a long time ago. The simplest form of human interaction, bringing joy and sorrow at the same time. She tried not to think about it. It led to thoughts of Awo on the TV, of Cell and Hunterhr during the war. Instead, she inched forward to watch from afar as the children huddled under umbrellas or embraced the rain, breaking away from their friends to jump into puddles.

Renzol sat by the window until it grew dark and the street lamps came on. People returned home from work. The moon rose and still Renzol sat by the window, staring at everything and nothing. The phantom pain brought about by rejection syndrome had disappeared, but it would be back soon enough.

 _Another day… the moment I head off to bed I'm facing another day of this._

The sheer despair of the thought brought fresh tears to her eyes. Maybe tonight she wouldn't go to bed at all. But tomorrow would follow regardless, and the lack of sleep would only make things worse. She learned that months ago.

 _Where did it all go wrong?_

For the first time in months, Renzol braved the dark waters. She looked inside, _truly_ inside. Through the tangled emotions, through the phantoms and memories she searched.

The end of the war and her loss of purpose. Hunterhr's death, Cell's death. The augmentation and losing her humanity. Foogleman's death. None of it was right.

Renzol traced it all the way back to the root, back to that sunlit afternoon aboard an alien transport ship. In the end it was so simple she couldn't understand how she hadn't seen it before.

She had let Frag die. She had never recovered from that. She had only pretended she had.

 _It was all a lie. The meditation, the Box, my strength… I was broken all along._ Silent tears poured down her face.

The ponderous ticking of the hallway clock marched on. Eventually Renzol stripped off her clothes and slipped under the blankets. She lay awake in the bed, her mind haunted by the ghosts of the fallen, and her body wrecked by the convulsions of rejection syndrome.

She was broken.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

A closing door echoed through the stairwell. Renzol tugged at her gloves and the sleeves of her coat nervously. She took a reassuring breath and started down the stairs, metal boots stomping loudly in the empty hallway.

The day was bright and warm for a late October morning. A gentle sun bore down on the suburbs, marred only by a small contingent of clouds wafting across the pale sky. Renzol stopped outside the front doors and savored the fresh air. She had slept long and deep last night, waking up to a morning blissfully lacking in lethargy.

Her good mood had lasted for three days now. Renzol tried not to think about it, but she had her suspicions that seeing Awo on TV a week ago may have had something to do with it.

 _Maybe I'm finally okay with the quarterly anniversary approaching,_ she thought. _Or maybe it's…_

Renzol shook herself out of it. She refused to think of Frag, and of the night when she had delved inside, looking for answers. Instead she took a breath of fresh air and started on her way, relishing having her life back, as small as it was. In the end, the reason didn't matter.

The sunlight and fresh breeze quickly elevated her mood even further. She had intended to only do her groceries, but maybe she would actually head downtown today. Chicago had been her city of residence for almost nine months now, but it wasn't her home. It was high time she learned her way around the place, maybe even had some fun.

 _Baby steps,_ she thought as she reached the sidewalk and headed towards the shopping plaza a few blocks away. Take-out and microwave meals were getting old. It would be great to have some fresh fruit after such a long time.

Renzol could only remember fragments from the days following her crash at XCOM headquarters. She had no idea what lies – or truths for that matter – she had told the base psychologist in order to receive her discharge nor could she recall why she had chosen Chicago; she had simply found herself on a plane headed for the city. Sometimes, she thought about returning to Leverkusen, though that particular train of thought never ended well. She had changed too much to be able to return home. The girl that had lived in Germany before the war was dead and buried now. Seeing the familiar sights and experiencing her native culture could only serve to remind her of what she had lost.

The sounds of construction brought Renzol back from her thoughts. Yellow tape circled a dirt pit down the road where a backhoe dug into the soil. The hydraulic cylinders hissed, propelling the hoe downwards. The bucket struck an old pipeline, and groans of metal grinding on metal filled the streets.

Renzol stopped in her tracks, eyes glued on the backhoe. Deep inside her something moved, and memories from a past life surfaced. She walked up to the construction, completely enraptured by the sight of heavy machinery working in perfect harmony.

The subdued yet pungent odor of ionized elerium. The gleam of polished alloy. Thick black oil pumping through her systems. An itch in the back of her mind where weapon controls connected.

Renzol's breath came fast. She no longer saw the excavator. The burning streets of Melbourne filled her vision, and she heard the supersonic boom of the fighter jets overhead. A thunderous series of explosions rolled across the district.

An alien machine faced her. The sectopod's cannon slowly lit up with crimson. The sheer amount of gathering energy made the hairs in the back of her neck stand up. The enemy fired.

Renzol gasped. Sweat speckled her brow. The memory had been replaced with cold fear. It squeezed her stomach, tying her insides into a tight bundle. She took a shaky breath and finally tore her eyes off the backhoe. She fled the scene, her metal boots scoring the pavement.

 _Why? Why now?_ Renzol grit her teeth and ran down the street, pushing pedestrians aside. She wanted to turn around and barge back into the safety of her apartment, but she didn't dare face the construction site again. She covered her mouth and pushed her head down, ignoring the indignant shouts of civilians.

 _I have to calm down_.

She stopped a block from the grocery store in a desperate attempt to quell the rising tide of panic. But no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't control her breathing. The panic attack threatened to take over, consuming all.

Something bumped against her arm. She shoved reflexively and swooped around. A young man stumbled away, muttering an apology while his friend stifled a laugh. The laughter died when he laid eyes upon Renzol's face. The man grabbed his friend by the arm and led him away. They rounded a police car sitting inside the parking lot and shot Renzol one last look over their shoulders before disappearing through the doors of the grocery store.

Renzol's shoulders heaved, and she glanced at the store window. A warrior's fierce eyes stared back at her. Her entire body was tense, from dead toes to synthetic fingertips. She pried open her balled-up fists, and the phantom sensation slowly disappeared with it. She breathed deep, testing herself. She was in control again.

She didn't want to think what would've happened if the man had ran into her at the construction site.

The grocery store's aisles were brightly lit, populated by a number of customers despite the workweek. Renzol grabbed a basket and headed inside. She took great care to keep her pace steady in order to avoid breaking the tiled floor; just another inconvenience brought about by her altered form.

The abolition of war rationing meant fresh tomatoes in late October. Renzol picked one up and gave it an appraising squeeze, though it was hard to tell the texture through the gloves.

A prickling sensation made her scalp tingle: someone was watching her. She glanced to her side to find a middle-aged woman staring at her. The woman was short and round and the narrowed eyes above her scarf darted from Renzol's metal boots to her gloved hand holding the tomato. Renzol quickly stuffed the tomatoes inside a plastic bag and weighed them. The woman pretended to study a pack of crackers but Renzol could feel the eyes on her back as she chose the rest of her fruit and vegetables. Her anxiety ebbed away, replaced with irritation as she headed down the next aisle.

 _Mind your own damn business_ , she thought. There was a time when she would've openly challenged anyone who treated her like that. The urge to walk up to the woman was still there; to tower above her and demand what she wanted. And if she defied her…

 _We could break her._

Renzol stopped and squeezed her eyes shut. The cold voice hadn't made an appearance in days.

 _She's just a nosy old hag. I'm not hurting people for looking._

The Box answered with a knowing laugh. Renzol clenched her jaw in frustration. It knew. It knew her all too well. The truth was that sometimes, she wanted to let go. She wanted to hurt someone, anyone. She wanted to drive her metal fist into a man's face, to see the teeth come off and the blood flow. It didn't matter who it was; it didn't even need to be an enemy. After all, she didn't have many enemies left. Only one. And she had to admit, she wanted to see herself suffer most of all.

Renzol swallowed. The lump in her throat was lodged in tight. The tide had arrived, carrying her away on dark waves.

She slouched through the store, grabbing things off the shelves without thought or conviction. Her vision smeared to a blur of bright lights and dark shapes. Fighting back the tears took everything she had. Her eyes stayed firmly downcast as she arrived at the register. Three people in line before her.

 _Oh no, not now. Just let me go._ The panic surged inside her. She gripped the handle of her basket so tight the plastic cracked. If she lost it here, she would never live down the humiliation. She looked for anything to take her mind off the rising panic.

The cash register's conveyor belt whirred quietly. Renzol let the workings of the machine fill herself. Her eyes stayed on the scratched black belt as it went around and around in endless circles. There was strange beauty in a machine built for a singular purpose.

She stared off into the past once again. The lights above were blinding, but she could still see the gratitude in the eyes of the surgery team as they thanked her for her sacrifice. The anesthesia mask pressed over her mouth and she knew she had done the right thing. She heard Daishi sing inside the MEC trooper's quarters, her voice filled with both hope and despair, yearning for salvation. She felt her new arms and legs for the first time again, unsure and tentative at first but growing stronger with each passing day. Exhilaration and joy filled her as she trained in a cybersuit. She was unbreakable.

The good days never lasted long, not even in her dreams. The burning streets of Melbourne were back. The sectopod's cannon fire connected and alarms exploded inside her head. The crimson beam of energy rattled her, making her exoskeleton shake in its hinges. But no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't stop it, and the energy passed right through her. Cell screamed as she hit the ground behind her. Renzol tried to shout, but not a sound left her lips. She was filled with thick black oil, the liquid bubbling over her lips and through her nostrils, filling the interior of her helmet.

Cell was dead, her face a sizzling mess of black and red. Two children lay beside her; Jamball and Dana. Their dead eyes accused Renzol.

" _You let us die, Steel Lady,"_ Dana said. Black blood flowed from her mouth with each word.

Renzol tried to answer, but her words disappeared in a wet gurgle. It wasn't oil. She was bleeding. She was dying.

"Hey, move it!"

Something grabbed her arm, and Renzol screamed. Her groceries scattered across the floor. A fist of solid metal connected with the man's face. He crashed into the queue, and the people yelled in surprise and terror. A streak of bright red hang in the air. Renzol saw it clearly, suspended in time. Blood. She was dying.

Renzol bolted for the door. The cries for help around her were drowned out by the blaring of sirens; an automated voice inside her head announced MEC armor status black. Renzol struggled for air. She was drowning in her own blood.

The sliding doors didn't open in time and Renzol crashed into them hard. The sound of smashing glass pierced through the sirens and she stumbled back, eyes wide. Inside her the mirror shattered, its million shards cutting her wide open. She felt the Box break open again and again. Hunterhr, Cell, Frag, Foogleman. She had killed them all.

A tortured wail left Renzol's lips as she burst through the doors, glass exploding around her. She didn't even register the doors of the police car slamming shut. Her elerium generators were in overdrive. Mechanized boots crashed down in swift strides, cratering the pavement.

She rounded the corner into a back alley. _Did you find your answer?_ Foogleman mocked her.

Renzol grasped her head tight, but she couldn't feel the pain. Her arms and legs were on fire. The muscle burned from within, eating away any and all rational thought.

Hunterhr's accusing voice filled her head. _You used me for your own ends when it suited you. After you were done with me, you tossed me aside like a used rag._ Renzol sobbed. She crashed into a garbage can and its metallic clashing sounded her frantic escape.

Cell's voice cut Renzol's heart like a dagger. _You were my best friend. And what was I to you? Nothing, a casualty of war. If it wasn't for you I would still be alive, my daughter would still have a mother. Instead she's just another war orphan._ The alleys disappeared behind a veil of tears.

Frag wasn't smiling down at her this time. _You should've died back then. You, not me._ His mouth was a cold line. The interior of the Skyranger disappeared in a torrent of green fire.

Renzol stumbled to a halt, sobbing. She wrapped her arms around herself. The pain was too much, she was burning alive. She tore away her jacket and hoodie and stared at her arms with dread. There was no fire, only the gleam of alloy bars under afternoon sun.

" _Police! Freeze!"_

The shout from behind made Renzol look up. She was in a parking lot. People stared at her with horror and curiosity.

"Hands above your head and turn around slowly!"

"What in the name of Jesus _is_ that?"

"Shut the fuck up."

Renzol heard the officers' voices from somewhere far away. Her body had become heavy but her head was light, soaring high above. She lifted her arms slowly, as if in a dream. The burning had receded. The pain was still there, but it was overpowered by a singular sensation. The back of her cerebellum where the weapons' controls had once been connected to was lit up like a beacon. She finally turned and faced the officers.

 _You know what you have to do,_ the Box said. There was no malice in the voice this time; it sounded very much like her own.

 _Yes._

Renzol's cerebellum radiated thousands of nerve impulses. The Ordinance Delivery System shook her exoskeleton as it thumped on her shoulder. Heat radiated as the flamethrower spat jellied elerium. Her shoulders strained as the Kinetic Strike Module's turbines fanned out with blue fire. Renzol dropped her hand.

Two gunshots roared over the lot and Renzol hit the ground. She felt her life seep into the asphalt below. Her arms and legs were numb, the fires finally extinguished and replaced with blissful cold. Her dead comrades looked down at her from the heavens. For once, they didn't mock or accuse her. They just smiled at her gently, welcoming her home.

 _A long time coming,_ Renzol thought as the world escaped her, replaced by endless darkness.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Open curtains let November light into the room, bathing the white tiles in a dying afternoon's brilliant glow. The window opened to the north side of the hospital, adjacent to the children's ward. A handful of kids were at play outside, swinging on squeaky swings and digging through the sandpit with plastic backhoes. One of the children – she couldn't have been older than four – jumped off the swings and landed face-down in the sand. A nurse was quick to her side, making sure she was alright.

Renzol followed the little girl's plight from her hospital cot. No sound carried through the window, but the helpless cries echoed deep inside her. She didn't care about strength or weakness anymore. She just wanted to cry like that again. Just cry and cry until it was all better.

 _Why's she here? What horrors does a girl her age have to go through?_

Of course the child wasn't crying just because of a sore knee or a bumped head: she might have been in-between chemo treatments, or maybe recovering from something harmless like chickenpox. Regardless, it must have felt like the end of the world to her. Renzol pulled her metal knees tight to her chest.

 _If she can do it… if she can keep fighting, then surely I—_

Her throat tightened at the thought and fresh tears welled in her eyes.

 _Though I guess I didn't exactly just scrape my knee._ A cynical laugh escaped her lips at the thought.

The first bullet had entered her body between the ribs on the left, just above her kidney, while the second round had pinged harmlessly off her alloy thigh. However, the first 9 mm hollow-point had grazed a rib and shattered, tearing open a lung. The internal bleeding and oxygen desaturation had rendered her incapacitated for days. The wound still radiated pain despite all the painkillers, but she hadn't been critical for a week now.

The police had arrived shortly after Renzol had woken up. She hadn't seen them, only heard their angry voices as they argued with someone in the hallway. They had returned two days later and that time, Renzol had caught a glimpse as a nurse had passed through the door. A man dressed all in black and bearing no visible badges had been blocking their passage into her room.

The police hadn't bothered her since. A doctor had brought her a letter stating all charges against her had been dropped, and that she was free to go as soon as she recovered. It was signed by the President himself.

Renzol had no doubt the Council and Commander Awo were behind it. But to her surprise, she didn't care. She barely spared a thought to the police, or to the people who had been pulling strings. She didn't lose sleep over a future where charges were pressed against her and the media uproar that followed. It all seemed so trivial. There were more important things, like the crying girl outside and the way she struggled back to her feet.

The door creaked and Renzol tensed. She pressed her chin to her knees and held her gaze outside. Someone pulled a chair next to her bed before sitting down with a quiet sigh. Renzol had been preparing herself for this all day, but she still wasn't ready. Maybe she'd never be ready.

Doctor Reed cleared his throat. "Renzol?" he asked.

Only silence answered him as Renzol followed the children outside. The little girl had stopped crying, and the nurse set her down to let her continue playing. The tears had returned to Renzol's eyes. She wanted to turn around and face him, but the courage wasn't there.

"Maybe it would be easier if I contacted someone you know? Family perhaps? Someone from XCOM?"

" _No!_ "

Renzol jerked around, grasping the rails of the medical bed tight. Her eyes glimmered wetly as she met the psychologist's gaze. "Please," she managed to add before pressing her forehead against her knees.

"Alright," Doctor Reed agreed, "No friends or family. Is it alright if a technician checks up on you? To make sure your systems aren't damaged?"

Renzol tensed again. They would know who she was. But she had to begin somewhere, and a nod barely noticeable was as easy as it would get.

"Good, I'll make the arrangements." The psychologist scribbled on his clipboard before placing the pen down with a clack. "So, Renzol. Why did you want to see me?"

Renzol froze, the words catching in her throat. She wanted to speak them, she truly did. But it was so hard; fighting all the mutons of the invasion at once would have been easier for her.

"We haven't made any real progress during our previous meetings. I'm here to help you Renzol, but I can't do it without you. Would you tell me why you wanted to see me?"

Renzol trembled. She hugged her knees tighter, and a quiet screech broke the silence as metal ground on metal. She closed her eyes and the tears were finally released, cutting wet paths down her cheeks. The gunshot wound in her side ached, a constant reminder of what she had attempted.

"I want to live."

The whisper was nearly inaudible, disappearing under a shaky breath.

"I want to live!" Renzol managed to cry out before the sobs took over.

Violent convulsions shook her body as emotions long shackled were finally set free. A huge weight had been lifted off her heart, but it was far from over. Starting the process was easy; what lay ahead was hard.

Nolan Reed had been Renzol's psychologist since her medical discharge from XCOM. They had met a few times before, but their first genuine session occurred in that tiny hospital room. It was little more than Renzol crying, but it was a start.

XCOM's bio-technician arrived some days later. He wore a regular doctor's coat with the Northwestern Memorial Hospital's logo – a blue-and-white amalgam of the letters N and M – over the front pocket. Renzol didn't recognize his face, but she could tell he recognized her. Thankfully, he was very discreet about it. There was no small talk as the man conducted a full physical check-up of her augments, and Renzol was happy to pretend he was just another healthcare professional. Her elerium core and artificial marrow readings were normal, the medical ports showed no signs of mistreatment or wear, and all the alloy parts moved and functioned as they should. The inflammation around her shoulders and hips had almost disappeared, and the man stressed the importance of continuing her medication in order to keep the most violent of cybernetic rejection syndrome's symptoms from returning.

"Besides medication," the technician said while packing his instruments, "the most important thing is mental health. Based on your file, Doctor Vahlen believes that to be the cause of the disorder."

Renzol tensed at the mention of XCOM's chief scientist, but in the end she accepted the advice with a silent nod and then the technician was gone. Renzol stared out the window, wondering if he would board a jet headed for a remote island located off the coast of Japan.

* * *

On the sixth day after her first meeting with Nolan, Renzol managed to talk about the war.

"It was a UFO op in July. Landed Raider in Mexico, in the mountains of Veracruz. Captain Scubaman was commanding." Renzol paused for a moment, her eyes growing distant. "I guess he was a lieutenant back then. I was the 2IC. Lead operative of the AT fireteam as the rocketeer, too. Cell was there as my support gunner."

She remembered the operation like it was yesterday: multiple pods of drones and seekers, and the first cyberdisc they had encountered during the war. Led by her and Cell, the squad managed to destroy the mechanized enemy without casualties. A storm of molten alloy had torn through the trees they had used for cover before Daishi had finally put the disc down with her laser strike rifle. It had been her fifth operation serving alongside Cell.

"Post-op, Cell asked me to train with her," Renzol said before falling quiet. The gunner had always been a hard-ass, someone she had looked up to. Now that Renzol thought about it, she had never asked Cell why she had made the offer that day.

Renzol cleared her throat. "I went with her. She was my spotter in the gym. I used to train a lot after hours." Her voice trembled slightly. The tide inside her was rising, and dark waters threatened to take over. She hugged herself tight.

"I never… never asked her…" Renzol ground to a halt, unable to finish the sentence. The trembling turned to shaking, and anxiety became heartbreak.

" _Because you're my best friend,"_ Cell whispered deep inside her.

"You never asked her why she did it?" Nolan helped her along.

"I never—never—" Renzol struggled for air, and her erratic breaths turned to sobs. Through her sorrow, she managed to whisper, "I never told her I loved her. She was my best friend."

* * *

The front door closed with frightening finality, sealing Renzol inside her apartment after what seemed like an eternity outside. A cascade of unopened letters and brochures sprawled across the hallway floor. She laid her bag amidst them and leaned against the door, closing her eyes and breathing in. She gripped the notes Nolan had given her tight, but she didn't need to look down. She had read the words over so many times she had them memorized.

 _Start simple. Something you enjoyed before the war. The smallest thing is fine: reading, sports, any other past time activity. Routine, Renzol. Routine is key, and the familiar is a good place to start._

It was all too much. Starting a new life – where to begin? Renzol let the air out and opened her eyes. With an awkward bend of her metal knees, she decided the mail was as good a place as any.

Pension, electricity bill, an angry letter from her landlord, more bills… Renzol read through the countless letters, opening them on the spot before engineering a neat stack out of them. By the time she was done, the stack was the size of a respectable paperback. The bills that hadn't expired she paid on her laptop – the ones that had she placed in a separate pile that evoked a distant sense of apprehension inside her. It was so mundane she wanted to laugh – she had gone through a lot more than missed bills in her time – but the frantic sound that left her throat rang hollow and too loud and was so devoid of real humor it scared her.

She continued where she had left off with the hallway, cleaning the apartment room by room. She didn't dare vacuum this late at night, but she organized, dusted, and took out the garbage. By the time she was done, the small apartment looked better than it had in nine months.

A shower later, Renzol found herself standing by the near-empty fridge. She had bought the bare essentials on the way and a Subway sandwich and fruit served as her dinner.

She was done in minutes. The apartment was silent but for the quiet humming of the fridge. Renzol clasped her artificial hands together. The nights she had spent at this table overcome by despair were beyond counting. She glanced at the blinds. If she was to open them now, what would happen? Would she stare out into the night until the familiar tinge of cybernetic rejection syndrome was back, niggling away at her shoulders? Would she once again be on the whims of her guilt and suffering, never to heal?

 _Let go. You want to,_ the cold voice of the Box whispered inside her.

"No."

The denial didn't make the fear go away. Nothing would, Renzol was sure of that. But it gave her strength. It gave her purpose.

Renzol stood up and tore down the garbage bags that still clung to the edges of the kitchen window. She balled them up and tossed them in the hallway, followed by the bags in the bedroom. She was done living in hiding. After only a second's hesitation, she opened the bedroom blinds.

The lamp post cast its orange glow over the empty playground. Dark asphalt stretched out in all directions, snaking in-between the apartment buildings and onto the lit streets beyond. Most of the windows were dark by now but some were still lit. For a brief moment, Renzol wondered what kinds of people were hiding behind those curtains.

The bag she had brought back from the hospital lay on the bed. She walked over and from within produced a thick hardcover. She took it under her arm, and an overwhelming sense of nostalgia came over her. Eyes closed, she lingered in the moment. Tears prickled at her eyes, but they didn't quite come. It was alright: if she cried tonight, then so be it. But she wouldn't cry for herself; she wouldn't cry at her helplessness or the hopeless predicament she was in. She would cry for the past, for the people she had loved and lost.

" _It's okay to cry. In fact, it's good. But crying over an uncertain future? It's pointless. People do it all the time and really, there's nothing wrong with it per se. But we still have a say over the future, so why cry over it? The past though… the only thing we can do is come to terms with it. And what better way to do that than an honest expression of one's emotions?"_

With Nolan's words in mind, Renzol laid the book down on the kitchen table. It let out a hollow thud, resounding with the promise of a new beginning. She knew sleep wouldn't come yet – the routine of a steady sleep cycle would have to wait. She grabbed a pen, flipped open the cover and scribbled the words she remembered so vividly inside.

" _To my son Hunterhr on the day he answered the Call of Duty: always remember who you are and where you came from." – Thomas Hunterhr Sr._

Even as it broke her heart, Renzol smiled and touched a synthetic finger to the words. It wasn't the real deal, but it would have to do. She couldn't remember where she had left off a year ago, so she simply started from the beginning. She had time.

Renzol flipped to the first page of _War and Peace_.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

"I hate my winter coat."

Renzol shifted in her armchair. Despite the chill outside, Nolan's office was comfortably warm. November was drawing to a close, and fall was turning into winter.

"It's ugly and the sleeves get caught on my elbows."

Nolan simply nodded along with Renzol's abrupt statements.

"Gloves. Hate them too. Don't fit."

Silence followed as Renzol ran out of things on her mind. Nolan let it continue before clearing his throat. "Have you considered wearing appropriate clothing?"

Renzol eyed him warily. "I wasn't aware there was a store."

"You can have them tailored. And Daishi wears her augments openly."

Whatever reply Renzol might have had stuck to her throat at the mention of Daishi. Alongside Renzol, she had been the first of the soldiers augmented during the war. But where Renzol's world had collapsed, Daishi's had bloomed. In the months following the alien invasion she became one of the most popular singers in the world.

Nolan waited patiently as Renzol battled her anxiety, desperately looking for a response. Not so long ago, she would have escaped. But despite the heartache it gave her and the cold voice inside her that sniggered and judged, she drew a deep breath to calm herself.

"What do you feel?"

Renzol closed her eyes. Once her despair had been a vast and endless ocean, and getting lost within had meant the loss of all reason and purpose. But with time she had begun to make sense of it all. She found the obvious first: sorrow. Sorrow of loss, in both mind and body. The woman she had once been was dead. Then came fear, so closely intertwined the emotions had almost become one. It permeated every aspect of her life, dominating her. But there was more, emotions she hadn't even realized were there, hiding under the lapping currents.

"I'm jealous."

The realization surprised Renzol. What Daishi had suffered through during the war – mind controlled and forced to turn on her own, and the guilt that had made her volunteer for MEC trooper augmentation — was no less painful or meaningless than Renzol's. She deserved happiness, and Renzol knew it.

"I hate it. I hate feeling this way."

The waters held more. A memory surfaced from the depths, clear as if it had been yesterday.

" _What happened to you?"_ Daishi asked, her eyes begging for an answer.

Renzol swallowed and balled her fists in frustration. Daishi had only tried to help her. It didn't matter that it hadn't been what she had needed back then. Keeping the Box shut had been the only way Renzol could survive, she had come to recognize that through her therapy. If Daishi had been there for her right after Frag's death, then maybe everything would have turned out different.

But it was too late for what-ifs. Nobody had saved Renzol, and she had become what she had out of necessity. But neither did it change the fact Daishi had only tried to help, and Renzol had shoved her aside, hurting her in the process.

"I'm sorry," Renzol said. "That's how I feel. I'm sorry."

* * *

Renzol stopped wearing her gloves. The number of looks she got was surprisingly low; she had been so absorbed in her own worries, so self-conscious that she had forgotten people rarely paid attention to strangers. It began slowly with her walks but in a couple of days, she mustered enough courage to leave the gloves at home while doing her groceries. She didn't dare think of stepping into the realm of tailored clothing though: chances were anyone trying to take her measurements would receive an involuntary rocket fist to the face.

The symptoms of cybernetic rejection syndrome had almost disappeared with her consistent medication. The convulsions still struck a couple of times a week, usually after a long and restless night. The attacks felt even more agonizing than before, in sharp contrast to the days of slow healing, but Renzol refused to let them break her. She had found herself again, and there was still some fight left in her.

Dealing with her changed body wasn't the only thing her most recent session with Nolan had brought to mind. Once again on her way home, Renzol found herself thinking of Daishi.

 _I suppose it's better than constantly thinking of the dead._

As soon as the thought crossed her mind, her heart kicked off to a faster beat. Daishi was still alive. It was so obvious now that she thought about it, but it hadn't even crossed her mind before. She could meet her. All it would take was a phone call. Despite Daishi's busy life, there was no doubt in Renzol's mind she would make time for her. That's just the kind of person Daishi was.

 _There's no way. I'm not ready._

 _You'll never be ready,_ the Box gloated inside her. Renzol balled her fists and grit her teeth. She hated the voice and the feelings it brought, but she couldn't make it go away.

Thoughts of Daishi didn't leave Renzol alone. She began noticing the singer everywhere she went: Her voice over the speakers of a grocery store. A documentary about her life available on Netflix. A poster downtown for her two upcoming concerts. Daishi was smiling in the picture, just as Renzol had always remembered: blue eyes framed by fair hair and lips upturned in a small, wistful smile.

The following night, Renzol couldn't sleep. The phantom pain was back: a dull, throbbing sensation that emanated from her shoulders and crawled down her arms, setting the stage for a violent convulsion she knew was coming in the small hours.

The laptop cast blue light across the kitchen. _War and Peace_ lay beside it, a bookmark protruding halfway through. Renzol scratched her synthetic forearm absentmindedly and sighed when the itch didn't disappear. Soft tunes flowed from the speakers, accompanied by Daishi's voice. Renzol didn't understand where the sudden obsession had come from. She needed to talk with Nolan. It was driving her crazy.

The problem was, her therapist was out of town for the week. Unable to bear it anymore, Renzol took matters into her own hands.

It took a series of rapid key strikes to find both her concerts were sold out, but it took just as long to find an independent site where scalpers were selling tickets at shocking prices. Renzol didn't stop to think. She selected the first outrageously priced ticket and hit buy. Confirmation of the transaction landed in her e-mail.

She was going to see Daishi.

* * *

Renzol tugged at her jacket nervously. The façade of the Symphony Center wasn't intimidating in and of itself; it was just like any other old red-bricked building from the beginning of the 20th century with arching windows over the main entrance. It was the line of people that caused Renzol's brain to scream.

Twenty-five hundred. Twenty-five hundred people packed into the same space with her. Threat assessment would be impossible. Renzol joined the queue of suits and dresses and a man in front of her caught her eye. His neatly combed hair and round-rimmed glasses set off alarms inside her head. The man turned and Renzol relaxed. His features were bulky instead of thin, and there was no discoloration along the neck.

Renzol drew a calming breath and looked up to steady herself. A tall poster of Daishi hung over the front of the building. Spotlights illuminated her form in the night; somehow, the photographer had managed to make her augments look elegant as they grasped the microphone. Renzol focused on the image of her former sister-in-arms, forcing out some of the stress of her surroundings. In the end it didn't take long before she was inside and checking in.

Red carpeting covered the brightly lit lobby. Attendees swarmed to and from the cloakrooms on either side before vacating the premises for the main hall farther down. Renzol spied an opening and stepped up to the counter. She hesitated for a moment before unzipping her jacket. A red-haired, politely smiling attendant stepped up and accepted the coat. Despite the smile, Renzol could have sworn she saw disdain in her eyes.

Renzol was wearing a simple gray blouse and jeans. They were an improvement over the baggy clothes she had gotten used to wearing, but still fell far below the standard curve of gowns and suits around her. It bothered her more than it should have. She tapped away at her thighs, resisting the urge to conceal her hands in her pockets.

The attendant returned and pressed a small plastic card with the number _238_ onto Renzol's palm. Their fingers grazed as the attendant pulled away, and her eyes widened.

"Enjoy the show," she managed to stammer. Her eyes were wide with shock.

"Thank you."

Renzol turned away, but she could feel the redhead's eyes on her back throughout the hallway. She wondered whether the attendant had been afraid of her, or if she had made the connection between her and Daishi. Restless anticipation made Renzol open and close her fists as she made her way through the white main hall and up a set of curving steps before finally stepping into the concert hall.

The great amphitheater was dimly lit. Red satin seats circled the stage on multiple balconies. Renzol's seat was at the end of the row, halfway up the topmost balcony. She sat down with a sigh. The crowd had made her nervous, but now it felt manageable. She could finally relax.

The view from her seat was great, almost justifying the outrageous price of the ticket. The stage was simple black-painted wood with no decorations, erected behind the orchestra pit. Drums and guitars dotted the traditional symphony orchestra which was predominately strings, complete with a grand piano. The stage was only missing its star.

"Sorry… coming through! Oh shit, sorry! Excuse me!"

Renzol looked up at the commotion. A petite woman in her early twenties stumbled along the row of seats. Her short gray dress fluttered wildly around her thighs as she strode over the outstretched knees. Brown bangs lined round-rimmed glasses, and the eyes behind the lenses didn't seem the least bit apologetic at her intrusion. She finally reached the end and sat down next to Renzol with aplomb. She noticed Renzol staring and offered a mischievous grin.

"Fancy-ass suits n' gowns… not sorry at all! I'm gonna see Daishi!" The girl squealed with delight. Renzol turned away without a reply, but the girl didn't seem to mind.

The dim lights died and the crowd's murmurs kicked up a notch. A single spotlight fell on the catwalk and followed a man walking up to the stage. He stopped to clear his throat by the microphone.

"Ladies and gentlemen! Welcome to the Symphony Center Nights! Today will be a very special performance – a prelude, if you will – to the world's number one singer arriving in Chicago. Tomorrow her music will entertain all but just for tonight, she is exclusively yours. Without further ado – ladies and gentlemen, the cream of Chicago – I give you Daishi!"

The crowd exploded into thunderous applause. The spotlight shifted to reveal Daishi stepping into the hall, and the girl with round glasses released a shrill whistle. Daishi's dress sparkled golden under the light, leaving her shoulders bare. The light gleamed off her alloy arms as she came to a halt before the microphone. She crossed her fingers and closed her eyes, smiling gently as ever.

Renzol leaned forward in her seat. It felt like her heart had stopped beating. She didn't notice the applause die down or the band prepare to start; all she could see was Daishi. It was really her.

The first song went by in a daze for Renzol. The world around her had disappeared: all that remained was Daishi and her voice. But she didn't hear her then and there; she had gone back in time, back to that cold metal structure deep underground off the coast of Japan. She was standing in the empty corridors of the Cybernetic Augmentation Center, and Daishi's voice echoed through as she sang away her phantom pain.

The cheering made Renzol jump. The girl next to her was up on her feet, clapping wildly in-between whistles. The rest of the audience was doing the same, the fanciness and reservations gone as they stomped their feet and clapped their hands just like any other concert. Daishi accepted the applause with a smile.

"Thank you."

The audience roared once more before quieting.

"Thank you all for coming. Really, what a heartwarming welcome. Tomorrow will be my main performance here in Chicago, but I always enjoy singing to a smaller crowd. Once again, thank you."

Renzol was captivated throughout the concert. The music was great; she had already grown to enjoy Daishi's songs in the days she had listened to her, and the live performance far exceeded any recording. Every song brought something back to her: a vision of Daishi leaping at the sectopod inside the Temple Ship; a sparring session between them in the MEC training grounds; a shared meal in the mess during the early days of the invasion, back when they were still whole.

Renzol was certain one song titled _The Red_ was about Wolfer. As with any good art the lyrics could be interpreted to have a deeper meaning, but Renzol recognized the very literal story of a man running to a dead end. The part where Daishi sang _warehouse falling on top of me_ even drew a sudden laugh out of her. She hadn't expected herself to have made it into Daishi's songs; a stray rocket she had fired on one operation had quite literally dropped half a warehouse on Wolfer.

The tears were close many times, especially when Daishi launched into her number one hit _Become,_ but Renzol managed to control herself. It was the song after, a cover that caught her off guard.

"A huge thank you to Ash for letting me sing this song, it means the world to me. This one's called _Paper Boats_."

The gentle piano took Renzol right back. The memory was vivid like nothing before. She smelled old liquor, cigar smoke, and dried blood from Medve's and Drake's bandages. It was the old familiar operative's mess. Orange light illuminated scratched hardwood tables. Scuba had kicked back in an armchair, wearing a reminiscent smile. Drake and Kilroy were curled up together, weeping openly as they sought comfort in one another. And captioning it all was Daishi, singing in the corner to the soft tunes floating from the speakers.

The only difference to the actual memory was the memorial wall. Now it contained all their pictures: Cell, Hunterhr, Hypergeek and Wolfer were there alongside everyone else. But it was Foogleman who had died that day. The black woman was grinning in the picture, standing between Drake and Kilroy, arms over their shoulders. Her eyes shifted to Renzol. She spoke.

" _Did you find your answer?"_

The question echoed through Renzol. Its weight crushed her heart. It broke her and set her free.

"Yes." The answer opened the floodgates. " _Yes!"_

Renzol covered her mouth. She could feel the tears streaming down her face. Daishi's voice following her, she stumbled out of the concert hall.

Her broken heart was bleeding, hurting so bad the sobs wouldn't stop. It was good. It made her know she would survive.

She found herself doubled over by the stairs. Her breathing was finally calming down, and the tears had dried.

"You okay?"

Renzol jumped up. The girl with round glasses was behind her, wearing a look of concern and curiosity.

"Sorry, don't answer that. Obviously you're not." She stepped up and offered her hand. "Shelly."

Renzol eyed her warily. She brushed off the last of the wetness and after a moment's deliberation, took up the hand. "Renzol."

Shelly's eyes widened a little at the handshake and instead of making eye contact, she looked down. Renzol realized what she had done and pulled her hand away.

"Don't worry about it," Shelly said. "I noticed. Inside." She nodded towards the concert hall.

"Is that why you came after me?"

Shelly grinned, somewhat abashed. "Yes. Well, at least partially. Okay if not for that, I wouldn't have come." Renzol turned away. "Oh come on! I'm here now."

"So?"

"Wanna go somewhere?"

Renzol gave her another wary look. Shelly took it as encouragement.

"There's a great little place nearby, they make killer hot chocolate with mint. Seriously, you gotta try it."

"What about the concert?"

Shelly threw a regretful look over her shoulder. "It's almost over. And I'm seeing her again tomorrow. Real concert too, none of this fancy pompous bullshit." She turned back to Renzol and lifted a questioning eyebrow. "How about it?"

Renzol had intended to rush back home, but something made her hesitate. Maybe it was the girl's friendly demeanor, maybe it was the vulnerable state she found herself in, maybe it was both. Before she had time to think through it, she found herself agreeing.

"Yes."

"Great! Come on, let's grab our coats and get the hell outta here!"

Shelly led Renzol to the cloakroom and out into the cold winter night. A few snowflakes made their way down under the streetlights. Shelly filled the air with pointless chatter on their way to the place 'nearby' – it was only a measly fifteen blocks away. Renzol didn't mind; she was happy to remain quiet while the odd girl rambled on about hot chocolate and Daishi and snow.

"We're here!"

Renzol looked up. A scratched wooden sign above the door read _Alleyway's._ Renzol followed Shelly inside, dusting off the snow that had piled on her shoulders.

The bar was delightfully cozy after the chill outside. Authentic oil lanterns cast warm light over tall wooden tables. The walls were paneled with stained oak, and old pictures framed the ceiling line. The space made an L-shape around the bar where a man with a big beard and a bald head served drinks. It was quite full for a Thursday night, but a few tables were still vacant.

"Adam!" Shelly shouted as she stepped inside.

The bartender looked up from the pint he was filling. "Shelly! Done already? How was it?"

"Everything I'd hoped for and then some! Two hot chocs, and don't spare the mint!"

Renzol glanced around the bar curiously. She hadn't been to one in years.

"Can you pick a table? I'll be right over."

Renzol nodded and Shelly turned back to the bar, her voice loud over the jazz tunes and patrons as she humored the bartender. Renzol set her sights on an empty table in the corner where a black-and-white picture of some celebrity of the past hung on the wall. She sat down under his gaze and closed her eyes. The emotional turbulence had receded, leaving her feeling blissfully liberated and tired. The smell of burning oil and melting snow permeated the air.

 _I can definitely see why she'd walk all the way to get here,_ Renzol thought. She smelled the mint before she heard Shelly.

"Two hot chocolates, as promised."

Renzol opened her eyes to a steaming mug of respectable size landing on the table before her. Marshmallows and chocolate floated in creamy brown liquid, and the overpowering smell of mint liqueur assaulted her senses.

"It's hot but it's _super_ good!"

Renzol simply nodded and picked up the mug. It was warm in her hands but not painfully so: her augments were incapable of feeling pain. She smelled the aroma of chocolate mixing in with mint, and something else underneath: cardamom and ginger. She blew a few times to cool the liquid before taking a careful sip. Shelly had been right. It was, in fact, _super_ good.

"You're right. It's good," Renzol said and laid down the mug. She looked up to find Shelly staring at her hands, still wrapped around the steaming cup. It was different from all other stares Renzol had gotten after the war; it wasn't malicious, fearful or even just plain curious. Those green eyes were reverent. Shelly seemed lost in some world of hers, only the slight movement of her pupils showing she was still there. Renzol pulled her hands under the table.

Shelly came to with a start. "Sorry," she said. Despite the bashful smile, she was undeterred and picked up the conversation again. "You know her, right?"

"Who?"

"Daishi. You were in XCOM."

Shelly's eyes drilled right through Renzol. She shifted uncomfortably in her chair and for a brief moment thought about leaving. She opened her mouth but instead of a goodbye, an answer left her lips.

"Yes."

Shelly leaned over the table with glee, almost knocking her mug over. "That's so cool! What's she like? I mean _really_ like?"

Renzol recoiled from the sudden burst of enthusiasm. "What do you mean?"

"Oh, you know. How they say it's all PR, the way she acts. And the augments, that it's marketing."

"What?" A sudden anger flared inside Renzol. "Daishi would never do that."

"That's what I say!"

"She's the most genuine person I know. She wouldn't sell out."

Renzol picked up her mug and drained deep. She had no idea people had been saying that about Daishi.

"Wow, you're mad. You must be really good friends."

The remark made Renzol stop. She _was_ mad. And annoyed. And defending Daishi. She didn't quite know how to feel about it, so she decided to drain the rest of the hot chocolate.

Shelly yelped in surprise. "Hey, you're supposed to cherish the choco! Damn, you should've just told me you wanna drink. I'll get the shots." The girl slid off her stool. "Soldiers… shoulda known."

Shelly soon returned with two beers and shots. Upon seeing Renzol's face, she cried out, "Don't tell me you drink cider!"

"Beer is fine," Renzol assured and took the pint. It was the truth, but she did prefer cider when she drank, seldom as it was.

"Cider… the hell kinda soldier…" Shelly muttered as she climbed back onto her stool. Renzol followed her with growing curiosity.

They continued to drink and chat inside the cozy little bar. Shelly was a painter, having moved to Chicago from Columbus half a year ago. She did most of the talking, but Renzol found herself answering earnestly and even elaborating a bit. The alcohol soon made her head swim; while the augmentation had gained her height and a good deal of weight in metal, the parts of her body that were susceptible to intoxication were a good deal less.

"What was it like?"

Renzol pushed her empty pint away. "What was what like?"

"Fighting. You piloted one of those Murder Machines, right?"

Renzol's eyes lost focus as she looked inside. Shelly waited patiently for an answer.

"It was incredible. I've never felt anything like it."

The ambient chatter and upbeat jazz felt like silence following Renzol's words. Shelly remained quiet. It wasn't until Renzol shifted that she spoke up.

"I've never been in a fight. Maybe I should try!" She perked up, drawing her shoulders back and raising her fists. "You'll back me up!"

Renzol laughed. She wasn't one hundred percent on whether Shelly was kidding or not.

Shelly picked up her purse. "Let's bail. Afterparty at my place, it's right nearby."

"Why not?" Renzol agreed without a moment's hesitation. The alcohol impacted her judgment, and she didn't see any reason to decline. For the first time in a year, she was having fun.

Nearby was more accurate this time; the tall apartment building was located eight blocks from _Alleyway's_. Renzol lost track of time and distance as they made their way through the now snow-covered city. Past and future had disappeared, and only the present remained.

Shelly led her up a long elevator ride and into her apartment. She didn't turn on the lights; she didn't need to. A short hallway opened onto a large unified space: the kitchen was located in one corner and the bed was a convertible bolted onto and lifted against the wall. The room was illuminated by the lights of the city, shining in through a window that spanned the entirety of the back wall.

"Amazing view, huh?" Shelly said while pulling off her jacket and tossing it over a chair. "Make yourself at home, I'll fix us a lil' something." With that she went over to the bed, rummaging through the small drawer next to it.

Renzol hung her jacket and stepped inside the shadow-veiled apartment. Multiple paintings, both finished and unfinished, hung on and leaned against the walls. Actual furniture was sparse; there was an armchair facing the window, a few scattered chairs and a counter separating the kitchen from the living room. The middle of the room was dominated by an easel. Renzol stepped up to get a better look at the current work in progress.

It was a painting of a warrior. And not just any warrior; Renzol recognized her instantly. The armor was lighter and more beautiful than practical, but there was no mistaking the MEC suit. Radiant blades extended from the arms as the figure charged into battle. Golden hair flowed from her brow, and two angelic wings spread out across the canvas. The lower half was unfinished but the face was already done. Daishi was smiling, but her jaw and eyes gave her a certain quality of strength and determination. Renzol thought it was a very beautiful painting.

"Okay, come here!"

Shelly was standing by the window, beckoning for Renzol to sit in the armchair. From behind her, she brought out a short roll of paper twisted closed at one end and ending in green leaf at the other.

"Ta-dah!" she announced with a grin.

"I've never done pot," Renzol said while sitting down. There was no objection in her voice, it was merely a statement.

"You'll be fine!" Shelly brought the joint to her lips and lit up. The flame burned bright for a brief moment before disappearing, leaving behind the cherry. Shelly inhaled deep and held before letting out a batch of thick, swirling smoke. She handed over to Renzol. "Just breathe deep and hold for a couple seconds."

Renzol took the joint. The paper was thin and it crinkled between her fingers. The alcohol didn't affect her augments, but her grip still felt a little shaky. A whisper from the past, when blood still coursed through her fingers. She closed her eyes and inhaled.

The smoke burned her lungs, and the weed tasted like ass. Despite that, she held for five seconds before letting it all out. She coughed a couple of times at the end, and Shelly gave her a quick round of laughing applause.

"Like a pro!" she said and took the joint back.

Renzol leaned back in her chair. The City of Chicago spread out before them: it may not have been Hong Kong or New York, but the view from Shelly's apartment was breathtaking regardless. Muddy yellow lights and colorful billboards, all draped in a veil of falling snow. Renzol took in the sight as the drug slowly worked her systems, relaxing tense muscles.

"What a view, huh? The moment I saw it, I just had to get this apartment. Even though it was expensive as fuck. Still is!" Shelly laughed and took another hit. She blew the smoke out through her nose and smiled, all the while gazing out the window. "I lived on water and lentils and painting for a month. I would wake up before sunrise and work until sundown, watching the sun work its way down over the city. Sometimes I would forget to eat, I was so absorbed in it."

Shelly stared out into the night, the joint smoking in her hand. "By the end of the month I had completed over twenty paintings. _Twenty!_ I sold enough to pay the rent and eat like a goddess for the next two." She took a small hit and shook the ashes into a beer can. "I know I couldn't do it again if I tried. There was something magical about it, you know? This view, lack of food, smell of cheap-ass paint thinner… I'll never get that back. But I suppose that's okay. What do you think?" Shelly turned around.

Renzol was fast asleep in the armchair. Her legs twitched, and her metal heels knocked on the floor. A soft smile spread on Shelly's lips as she went over to get a blanket.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

 _01:24 AM, Saturday, 1 January 2017_

 _From: awoijaweohr_

 _Hey Renzol,_

 _It's damn good to hear from you. I understand you didn't want to get into it until now, but let me just say that much. It's damn good to know you're doing better._

 _As for Liani and the child, I shouldn't be handing out personal information… But to hell with that. They're both alive and well in Johannesburg. I've attached a short report on them along with her email._

 _Good luck._

 _-Awo_

* * *

Nolan scribbled down on his notepad before speaking.

"And why do you think it's so easy being with her?"

Renzol shrugged. "I don't have to explain anything to her."

Shelly knew she was struggling, that there was something in her past that had changed her irrevocably. But not once had she asked Renzol about it.

"When I'm with her, I can almost forget about it all. Being with her is easy."

Nolan nodded and eyed through his notes. "You've talked a lot about your budding friendship with Shelly, but I'd like to ask you this; how does it make _you_ feel, Renzol? When you feel what you call the 'dark waters' rising, has something changed? Or is it the same as before?"

Renzol flinched and clasped her hands together. She dropped her gaze to the floor. "The voice – the Box – is there, every night. It says I let Cell die. That I'm –" Renzol swallowed and squeezed her eyes shut. "That I've replaced her with someone just to make myself feel better." Renzol grit her teeth in frustration. She hated it. The voice, herself, the world. It seemed like it would never end. "I know it's not true! I know it but…"

"Aren't you doing just that, though? Replacing Cell to feel better?"

The words shocked through Renzol and she looked up, eyes full of incredulity. "W-what?" she managed to ask.

"You're seeking a new friendship in order to feel better. That's how humans work. Of course with any relationship you have the added benefit of giving something back to the other person as well. And if things work out it'll become something much greater than the sum of its parts."

Renzol could only stare at Nolan, agape. The psychologist continued.

"You say you know it's not true. Is it?"

Renzol shied away from the gaze that seemed to drill right through her. She closed her eyes and looked inside, past the hurried excuses and barriers she had begun building anew.

Nolan was right. She still blamed herself for Cell's death. Still blamed herself for Frag. Even Hunterhr, despite finishing _War and Peace._ She had assured herself the symbolic gesture would grant her closure, but it hadn't, not in the slightest. She still blamed herself for it all.

"It's true," Renzol whispered, "I'm a terrible person." She buried her face in her hands. There were no tears, only soul-crushing despair. "How?" she asked, "How am I supposed to get past this?"

"That's what we're here to figure out. That and a lot of time."

* * *

The door was already ajar, so Renzol stepped inside.

"Hello?"

"Hey you!"

Shelly leaned over from the living room and gave a small wave with a brush. Her hair was tied back and she wore a big grin and a loose T-shirt stained with hues all the way from dark brown to bright magenta.

"I was just wrapping up. You can drop 'em in the kitchen while I wash up."

Renzol nodded and placed down the shopping bags before hanging her jacket in the hallway rack. Her sleeveless olive drab hoodie left her metal arms exposed, a piece of kit that had quickly become her new favorite for its ease of movement. She breathed deep and summoned the courage she knew still resided within. Her latest session with Nolan still on her mind, she took the bags into the living room.

A plethora of new paintings lined the apartment walls: Landscapes of snowy mountains and tiny cabins, autumn scenes with waterfalls and abandoned barns. An old VHS system was hooked up under the TV and a cardboard box beside it spilled videotapes onto the floor.

"New project? I haven't seen you do landscapes before," Renzol shouted.

The sound of running water from the bathroom halted. "It's what I do when I hit a rut. Bob Ross just mellows me the fuck out, you know?"

The water resumed and Renzol stepped towards the kitchen. She left the bags on the counter and turned to observe the landscapes closer, excited to see what her friend had created. Before she got closer, the ongoing painting on the easel made her stop.

Black-on-white. Sharp edges and jagged corners. The arms and shoulders were all ridges and spikes. The chest armor was impenetrable, and the hands were replaced by a twisted blade and a flamethrower that spat black fire. The helmet formed into a snout with snarling teeth and a mane of carved steel spikes. The lower half of the painting was unfinished below the torso.

There was a crack in the plating along one side of the helmet. A single blue eye stared out of the exoskeleton's depths. It appeared expressionless, but Renzol's mind filled in the emotions.

Hope. Despair.

"Like it?"

Renzol came to with a visible jerk. Shelly stifled a giggle, smiling. Renzol had been too captivated to hear the smaller woman come up behind her. The painting seemed to have the intended effect.

Renzol eyed the painting warily and said, "It's great, but I'm not sure 'like' is the right word."

"Want it?"

Renzol shot her an incredulous look. "You'd just give it to me?"

"If you want it."

Renzol's eyes searched Shelly for honesty before inspecting the painting again. A chill ran down her spine and all the way down her dead legs, prickling at her toes. It wasn't the nightmarish form that unsettled her, but the expression she saw underneath. It was too real. It was her.

"Thanks, but I don't think I could sleep with this in the house."

Shelly laughed and touched a hand to her arm before pulling away to the kitchen. "Sure thing. Let's cook. I'm fuckin' starving!"

Dinner was a simple affair: pasta with soy in tomato sauce and plenty of avocado in the salad, but Renzol enjoyed the simple act of cooking with someone. Sometimes Shelly's energy made Renzol feel clunky and ugly – namely when she put on music and wiggled her hips to the beat – but today wasn't one of those days.

The food was tasty and Shelly's chatter was familiar and welcome filler to go with it. They ate by the counter on bar stools Shelly had bought from _Alleyway's_ that fit the bohemian style of the odd artist's apartment perfectly. They were finishing the wine when Renzol breached the conversation.

"I'm travelling this weekend."

Shelly raised an eyebrow behind her glass. "Oooh, interesting. Where?"

"South Africa."

"Now that's a destination for a holiday." Shelly's eyes lit up with curiosity. "Is it? A holiday?"

"No."

Shelly wheeled her head from side-to-side, contemplating Renzol. "You're not gonna tell me."

It wasn't a question, but Renzol answered anyway. "No. Maybe someday."

Shelly nodded. "Fair enough. Not knowing is kinda fun anyway. Results in all sorts of things," she said, gesturing towards the easel.

The rest of the week crawled by agonizingly slow. Renzol's nights were full of restless sleep and phantom pains, and her days were riddled with anxiety and trepidation. But despite all the hardships, she remained determined. She had promised Cell she'd find her daughter. Would it give her peace of mind? Renzol didn't know, but she also didn't care. She owed it to her.

 _You're only doing it to make yourself feel better,_ the cold voice whispered. Renzol didn't push it aside. It was her, an undeniable part of her that she would have to live with. The Box. The voice. Herself… it was all one and the same. So she just closed her eyes and accepted the abuse. But she refused to let it break her.

The day of the flight finally arrived. It was Friday, and the O'Hare International Airport ebbed and flowed to the beat of the approaching weekend. A connecting flight would take her to JFK in New York where she would board a plane headed for Johannesburg. She felt clumsy and unnatural walking across the open asphalt and towards the sliding glass doors. She was tall, and her movements must have looked unnatural. What if security decided she was suspicious? Would they believe the veterans ID she had in her wallet? Or would they decide letting a half-roboticized human on the plane was too much of a risk?

 _Let them try. I'm going to Johannesburg so let them goddamn try._ The thought spurred her on, and she headed straight for the counter. She only had a small bag with a change of clothes with her; she wasn't planning on staying long. She checked in at the desk and got her boarding pass before heading for the security check.

Her turn came all too soon. She placed her bag inside a bin and when a uniformed man with a thick mustache beckoned to her, she handed over her passport and boarding pass.

"It's going to sound," Renzol said, nodding towards the metal detector.

"Empty your pockets then," the security answered in a voice dulled with routine before giving back her passes.

Renzol braced herself. The moment of truth. She rolled back her sleeve, and the man's eyes widened.

"I have ID," Renzol said, "Can I take it from my pocket?"

The security stared at her metal arm for a while before managing to tear his eyes away and nod. Renzol produced a small laminated card and handed it over. The man observed it carefully and after a while, his frown smoothed over.

"I see. XCOM, huh? My grandpa was a vet. Was there on D-Day." He handed the ID back. "Thank you for your service. Just go around the side. Mike'll check you don't have anything hidden and you're good to go."

Relief soared inside Renzol's chest, leaving her feeling light as a feather. She thanked the man and headed towards Mike, a nervous looking man no doubt serving his first month at airport security.

She stood patiently through the inspection as Mike's hands patted her down, and the pause when he reached her legs almost made her laugh. The young security looked helplessly towards the man with the mustache who just motioned for him to get on with it. Mike muttered a confused apology and let Renzol through. She took her bag and left the checkpoint and before long, she was high above ground.

 _It's so different from the Skyranger,_ she thought, gazing out the window at the scenery rapidly growing more and more distant. She let out a sigh and leaned back in her seat. _I wonder how they're going to feel about this?_

Cell's sister had seemed apprehensive in the email, but had said she wanted Renzol to come. As for the child… Renzol didn't really know anything about little Jamball. Well, she wouldn't be _that_ little anymore at ten years old.

 _She never even met her mother. Wonder how she'll take the news._

Renzol looked out the window again. The towns and cities below looked like they belonged to ants. It was a good reminder of how insignificant all their lives really were in the grand scheme of things. Yet she was on her way halfway across the world anyway, on behalf of someone already gone. It couldn't be insignificant. Renzol grasped onto the thought, holding it tight.

 _After I see Jamball, I'll officially know more about her than Cell ever did._ The thought made her sad. It wasn't the soul-crushing depression she had gotten used to; she was simply sad. She closed her eyes and laid her head against the window.

Renzol arrived in Johannesburg just after noon. The sun was up, and the temperature felt tropical after chilly Chicago. The winter coat went right into her bag, leaving her wearing a gray sweater. It was too hot, but she decided she'd soldier through it. She wouldn't bare her arms here.

She had told Liani she would come visit right after her arrival, and the flight had been on time.

 _Here we go then._ She stepped to the sidewalk where a line of taxis was waiting. Now that she was in South Africa the trepidation had disappeared. Only one thing left to do.

The taxi she took smelled like air fresheners, and the black man behind the wheel wore a bright smile.

"English?" he asked in a thick accent that ate the entire word.

"Yes." Renzol leaned forward from the back seat and offered him a piece of paper. "This address."

The driver looked at the paper before smiling again, baring rows of white teeth. "Ah, yes. I drive I drive."

The city of Johannesburg had recovered admirably following the months of alien occupation. Downtown and the surrounding metropolitan area were dotted with newly completed architectural marvels while construction continued in parts of the city. The most notable in its absence were the trees. For a city that had once been called a rain forest, the lack of green was unsettling. The saplings planted after the war would take a long time to grow.

Everything about the city seemed to scream _we're past it!_ Renzol wondered how well that façade would hold up if you scratched the surface a little. How much corruption still remained? How many lives had been changed by the occupation, never to return to normal, no matter how many new seeds were planted?

The taxi cruised over the newly paved roads and into the suburban area on the edge of town. The houses were well maintained but not luxurious, very much the same as the middle-income areas Renzol had seen in the US. The taxi turned at another intersection before coming to a halt by the side of the road.

"We here," the driver announced with his wide smile.

Renzol answered with a generous stack of South African rands. The man nodded approvingly and thanked her in the accent Renzol had grown somewhat fond of. She returned the thank you and climbed out of the taxi.

The sun bore down on her relentlessly. The lawn before the house was green and well maintained, and a cobblestone path led up to the door. Liani had told her she was living with some of her relatives, but there would be no one else home today. Renzol took a deep breath and walked up to the door.

She rang the doorbell. The following eight or so seconds were the longest of her life and after what seemed like an eternity, the lock turned. The door opened to reveal a white woman in her early thirties, dark hair pulled into a ponytail. The areas around her eyes and mouth were wrinkled past her age. She was as tall as Renzol, and the rough line of her jaw and cheekbones made the resemblance undeniable.

Renzol couldn't manage a word. She was the spitting image of Cell.

"Hey? Are you Renzol?"

The greeting brought Renzol back. She made eye contact and most of the similarities faded away. The woman's tired eyes were full of poorly masked grief.

"Yes, sorry. I'm Renzol." She offered her hand.

"Liani," the woman said and took her hand, doing a double take as she grasped the cool synthetic. Renzol had told her about it in the mail, but she had expected the reaction nonetheless. She was already growing used to it.

"Excuse me. I'm sure you get that all the time. Please, come in," Liani said and stepped inside.

A long hallway covered by a brown carpet reached into the house. At the end, a drawer stood against the wall. A large picture of Cell was in the middle of it, surrounded by fresh flowers. The picture was old, from before she left home; she couldn't have been older than seventeen. A lump materialized in the back of Renzol's throat and her eyes prickled.

"Do you want coffee? Tea?"

"Coffee is fine," Renzol answered, doing her best to keep her voice from cracking.

Liani led her into a yellow-paneled kitchen. The floor was covered by colorful carpets, and a large old table stood in the middle. Renzol sat down while Liani worked on the coffee. The silence between them stretched on as the coffee machine rumbled and the welcoming aroma of coffee enveloped them.

 _How do I even begin?_ Renzol thought. Liani leaned against the counter with her back turned, waiting for the coffee to finish with reverence that would've seemed comical if not for the situation. Renzol realized she must be thinking the exact same thing. It eased her anxiety.

Liani finally poured out the black liquid into mugs and placed cream on the table. She sat opposite Renzol and seemed to make spooning sugar take a lifetime. Just as Renzol was about to clear her throat, Liani spoke up.

"You… knew my sister?"

"Yes. She was a—," she fumbled over the pause, articulate words immediately failing her, "a good friend." Renzol kicked herself. She hadn't managed to put her feelings into words at all.

"Was she happy? With her… work?"

The question made Renzol blink. "Yes, I believe so." She felt like an idiot. Was that really all she could say? She felt like she needed to offer proof, some tidbit of evidence that would assure Cell had been happy. A quote maybe, or a profound story.

Liani scrubbed her face. "She mentioned her work in her letters, but I don't know. It gets so hard. When you don't see someone for eight years, you start to doubt yourself. Do I even know her anymore?"

"Foul-mouthed, cocksure, doesn't take shit from anyone. That's the Cell I knew."

Liani's jaw dropped. She stared at Renzol for a while before bursting into laughter. The fit was frantic and over quickly but it made Renzol smile nonetheless.

"Ok. That's definitely my sister."

"I really admired her. I wanted to be like her."

The silence returned and the two of them drank their coffee. It was Liani who broke the silence again.

"Did she talk about us? Did she ever talk about little Jam?"

Renzol swallowed. This was it. "Not much. It was after the series of hits on South Africa in May. I think… I think it was the only thing she was afraid of. That something bad would happen to you. She wanted to protect you but once South Africa left the Council, we stopped responding to attacks in this area."

Liani nodded. Her eyes were red, firmly fixated on the table. "And how did she…" Her voice trailed off, unable to finish the question.

"They hit our base. Tried to take us all out with a direct assault. It was –" Renzol closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Memories of dark metal corridors and flickering emergency lights flooded her mind.

She cleared her throat. "Cell was in the first line of defense. She took a bad hit but refused to give in. She saved a lot of lives. I tried to make it in time but I – I couldn't save her."

Renzol clasped a hand over her mouth. If she hadn't gone training before the attack, if she had left the engineers behind, if she had been faster to kill the enemy on her way… the infinite possibilities of what could have been chased themselves around and around in maddening circles inside her head.

"I'm sorry," Liani said.

Renzol shook her head. This wasn't the way it was supposed to be at all. She swallowed back the tears. "You know Daishi?"

Liani nodded uncertainly. "Yes."

"Cell died in her arms. Afterwards, Daishi told me she said something. 'I couldn't protect you'." Renzol forced herself to meet Liani's eyes. "She meant you and Jamball. She loved her daughter. She wanted to come back after the war. But she was afraid Jamball wouldn't want her anymore."

Liani cried. It was violent and heartbreaking, but Renzol sensed a sort of relief from her. Unlike herself, Liani must have started dealing with Cell's death months ago. Renzol hoped this was the last thing she needed to be at ease. Wanting to give her privacy, Renzol looked away. That's when she noticed the girl by the door.

She stood in the hallway, peering into the kitchen. Round cheeks framed by dark hair and a pair of serious eyes.

Liani noticed the look and followed Renzol's eyes. She wiped away the tears and called to her niece, "Jam, come here. We have a guest. A friend of your mother's."

The girl stepped into the kitchen. She walked to the table and stopped, never saying a word. Renzol looked from her to Liani. The woman gave her the go-ahead with a nod, and Renzol slid off her chair. She crouched in front of Jam and offered her hand, palm up.

"Hey. I'm Renzol," she said.

Jam didn't answer, only stared at her hand. She reached and lifted her sleeve. Cold metal stretched on under it.

"What happened to your arm?" Jam asked, her voice oddly serious for a small child.

"I was in an accident," Renzol lied. _Not entirely a lie,_ a thought echoed inside. "Listen, I have something to tell you. It's about your mom."

Renzol waited for Jam to acknowledge her, but the girl just kept staring at her arm. She let go of the sleeve and touched the metal. Renzol could swear she felt the slightest of tickles.

"Your mom… she loved you. She wanted to come back."

Jam pulled her hand away, but that was all the reaction Renzol got. Her small face was unreadable. Renzol sighed and stood up. Liani looked from her niece to Renzol, heartbreak in her eyes. But the smile that rose to her lips was thankful.

"Thank you, Renzol. Thank you for coming."

Renzol nodded. "I think I should leave now."

"I think that's for the best."

"Goodbye."

"All the best to you."

The front door closed behind her, and Renzol leaned against its hard surface. She closed her eyes and wondered. Wondered how exactly the news she had delivered would affect Jamball's life. Would she forget about it, burying it deep inside her subconscious? Would she resent Cell for never coming home? Would she cherish her memory, knowing her mother had died fighting for her family and a free Earth?

There was only one thing she knew for sure. Even though her own heart was still broken and bleeding, the lightness that came with it made her feel ecstatic. Something wet streaked down her face, and Renzol touched her cheeks in wonder. She was crying. But for the first time in forever, it wasn't because of despair.

She was healing.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

The beautiful, snow-covered valley with a far-off forest and mountain looming over that she had visualized on the canvas had turned out to be little more than a collection of paint smears. The snow was green at the edges, the forest wasn't subdued enough and the mountain seemed to jump out into the foreground. Renzol sighed and put down her brush.

"I suck at this," she said.

"But it was fun, right?" Shelly replied.

Fun wasn't the word Renzol would have used to describe the experience, but it had been relaxing. Focusing on something that was simple in its very core, something you didn't expect yourself to excel at; yes, she had definitely enjoyed the last hour or so.

Shelly was curled up in her favorite armchair with a paperback to keep her company while Renzol had tried her fledgling skills at oil painting. Brilliant April sun flooded the apartment through the wide windows – spring was well on its way.

In the months past, Shelly's apartment had grown intimately familiar to Renzol as she had found herself spending more time here than at her own. Doubts over the future and painful memories of friends gone still lingered; memories of Cell and Atlanton, of Hunterhr and Frag and Foogleman. But the pain was now just another reason for her to keep moving forward, for their sake just as much as her own.

Renzol dipped a brush into paint thinner and wiped it with a cloth. "Oh right, what about tonight? Are we still seeing _Bright Nights_?"

"Sure," Shelly said, never taking her eyes off the paperback.

Renzol frowned. Shelly was usually energetic, always the one talking and cracking jokes and making plans for the next days. Her subdued attitude and curt answer unsettled Renzol, and she took a closer look at her friend. Shelly was eyeing through the paperback, but her eyes seemed distant. She wasn't reading.

As if feeling the stare, Shelly sighed and laid the novel against her chest.

"Something up?" Renzol asked, cleaning her hands on a towel.

Shelly tapped the novel pensively against her knees before tossing it on the floor. "I got that grant I mentioned a while back. For Buenos Aires."

A genuine smile leapt to Renzol's lips. "That's great! Congratulations!"

"I'm leaving in two weeks."

The smile died. Before Renzol had a chance to reply, Shelly spoke again.

"Wanna come?"

"I – what? To South America? Argentina?"

Shelly shrugged. "Why not? It's not like you've got anything goin' on here. Besides, I could really use my muse."

Renzol was about to laugh the joke off, but something struck her as she met Shelly's eyes. It wasn't just a carefree _wanna come,_ as much as Shelly tried to make it sound like one. She _wanted_ Renzol to come.

Renzol looked for another brush to wash, but they were already cleaned.

"Give it a shot. Two weeks, no strings attached. I'll pay for the flight back."

"It's not that. I just… I need to think about it." Feeling defeated, Renzol looked away.

"Sure. But I need to know by Monday."

* * *

"And the voice… have you heard it?"

Renzol was inside Nolan's office, sitting in the armchair she had come to think of as her own.

"No, not since the… restoration." The pause gave away all her doubts, and Nolan wasn't one to miss such things.

"You'll be fine, Renzol. You're not the kind of person who'll make the same mistakes twice. Just remember to stay on the path you've set on and it'll all work out."

Renzol sighed. "I know. It's just… Frustrating. Intimidating."

"Progress is slow. Maybe one day you'll forget all about it."

"Maybe," Renzol said with a rueful smile.

"Was there something else?"

Nolan knew her all too well: she always left the reason for their meeting last, and her age-old troubles with the Box hardly counted as one.

"Shelly is moving to Argentina on a grant. She wants me to go with her."

"Will you?"

"Yes."

Speaking the decision out loud felt good. She continued, "She's right. There's nothing for me here. I need to start living my life again, figure out what I want to do. Why not start there?"

Renzol didn't really believe in the idea of new beginnings – her past would always be a part of her – but symbolically it was a nice thought. A new country with new challenges and adventures.

"Yeah, I'm going. Not just because it's Shelly, but because I want to."

Nolan's pen finished its scribbles, and the man smiled. "Well, there isn't much to talk about then. Seems like you resolved this issue before coming here."

Renzol smiled. The words made her chest burn with warm pride.

"You've come a long way in these past six months. It's really quite impressive. But don't forget: the changes only last as long as you make them last."

"I know."

"But as long as you remember that," Nolan said and stood, "you'll be fine. There's strength in you." The man offered his hand, and Renzol clasped it tight. "You have my number. Call anytime if you need help in Argentina."

Tears prickled at Renzol's eyes, and she swallowed and nodded. "Thank you. For everything."

"Thank yourself. You did all the heavy lifting."

* * *

The Sunday evening's sun hung low, casting brilliant rays across the city. The street before a tall apartment building in downtown Chicago was quiet, with only a handful of pedestrians walking by. A black Mercedes halted out front and the rear door popped open. A blonde woman wearing large sunglasses and a green coat slid out with a cardboard box under her arm. She stopped by the driver to say something before stepping away. The engine died and the car remained waiting as the woman pushed in through the front door.

A girl with brown bangs and round glasses was waiting inside the hall. She perked up with a squeak when the blonde entered. Her eyes grew wide and her face paled.

 _She must be the friend,_ the blonde thought. She prepared to greet, but the girl turned away and practically raced down the hall. The woman brought a gloved hand to her mouth to stifle a laugh. She headed for the elevator, and it took her to the top floor.

She found herself standing before apartment number 904. She pushed the shades into her hair. Her pulse picked up as she rang the doorbell. Heavy strides behind the door announced someone was home. The lock turned and the door opened.

A familiar face stood in the doorway. The hair was longer than it had been the last time she saw her, and the steel cold expression had been re-forged into a mixture of anticipation and dread. A sleeveless hoodie left her augments in plain view. They were just like her own.

"Renzol!" Daishi said and stepped forward, wrapping an arm around her former sister-in-arms. Renzol stiffened for a moment before relaxing. She didn't say anything; she simply didn't have the words.

"It's so good to see you. I'm glad you're doing better," Daishi said. She pulled away from Renzol awkwardly, and their metal arms clipped together.

"Hey," Renzol finally managed, "Sorry for making you come all the way."

"Don't worry about it. I was in the State anyway," Daishi assured. Renzol stepped aside and motioned for her to enter, and Daishi obliged.

"Nice place," Daishi said as she walked into the living room, laying the cardboard box down. "You said it was your friend's? The short girl downstairs with bangs?"

Renzol nodded. "Did she give you trouble?"

Daishi's bright laughter filled the apartment. "Oh no! When you said 'obsessive fan' I was expecting far worse! I should stop for a chat on my way out."

"I think she'd like that."

Daishi looked around the apartment. It was empty but for a pair of sleeping bags and trunks in the corner. "Argentina, huh?" she mused.

"Yeah. It's just… something to do," Renzol said. Once again she felt awkward for not being able to convey her feelings.

Daishi smiled over her shoulder. "You don't need to explain yourself to me, I'm just glad you're alright. I was really worried for you. We went through so much together, and just thinking you'd end up like Wolfer…"

Daishi's voice trailed off and the smile in her eyes died. She shook herself in an attempt to rid the phantoms. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to come here and–"

"It's okay. I'm dealing with it."

The wistful smile Renzol remembered so well returned to Daishi's lips. "Me too. I don't think I'll ever be done." Daishi perked up as she remembered the reason for her visit. "That's right! I brought all the things you asked for. Medve was a darling! He hunted all over HQ for this stuff, even knew where to get the cigars you couldn't find!"

"I'll have to thank him when I see him," Renzol said, smiling as she remembered the quiet officer.

"Does that mean…"

Renzol shook her head furiously. Earth Independence Day celebrations had moved from quarterly to twice a year, and the next event in August was too soon. "I'm not ready yet. Maybe next year."

"Take your time. But I'm sure everyone is looking forward to seeing you again."

Renzol had her doubts about that. How many in XCOM had grown to resent her, she wondered. How many of them would smirk at her with glee, knowing she had never been the woman she had pretended to be?

Renzol pushed the dark thoughts aside.

 _Not that many. And I was who I was, and I did what had to be done._ The thought strengthened her.

"Well then, I think I'll leave you with these," Daishi said, patting the cardboard box gently. "I have a flight to catch, too." To this day she refused to use a private jet, despite the desperate pleas of her managers and producers.

"Daishi," Renzol said, a new wave of anxiety in her stomach. "I'm sorry."

"For what?" Daishi said, perplexed by the sudden apology.

"For what I said back then… before the Temple Ship. And for everything."

Daishi walked over to her. "You don't need to apologize."

"I do. I'm sorry."

Daishi opened her arms. Renzol hesitated for just a brief moment before embracing her former MEC sister.

"If you insist… Apology accepted," Daishi conceded with a smile. "Take care Renzol. I'll see you later."

Renzol was left alone in the apartment. Afternoon sun bathed the room in dusty golden rays. She let out a deep, shaky breath before kneeling down next to the box. She cut the tape with a safety knife and pried the lid open. Despite knowing what to expect, her heart caught in her throat nonetheless.

A letter lay on top of the packaging material.

 _Hey Renzol,_

 _Here's all the stuff you requested. I hardly did a thing, most of it was down to Awo and Medve. You should thank them instead of me. Oh, Medve also found something extra that wasn't on your list. It was behind Atlanton's old locker in Charlie. I think you'll like it :)_

 _-Daishi_

Renzol put the note aside and started rummaging through the box. A smile rose on her lips. The first item was a green hairbrush with a few fair hairs still stuck to it. Renzol picked it up and ran it through her hair, eyes closed in reminiscence, wondering which of the strands were hers and which were Atlanton's.

Next was a stack of pictures, the first one showing a solemn black man in uniform. Renzol pressed Hunterhr's service picture against her chest. There were no other personal belongings of his left; the original copy of _War and Peace_ had gone back to his father. Renzol hoped she would never forget Hunterhr's soothing voice as he read the works of German philosophers to her, the voice of the man she could have easily fallen in love with had the circumstances been different. The rest of their pictures were there too: Foogleman, Wolfer, Atlanton, Ballystix, and everyone else.

The last picture was Jamball's. Tears came to Renzol as she regarded the old and crumpled photograph. The crevice running across where Cell had almost torn it in half, the gap between the smiling girl's front teeth – it was exactly as Renzol had remembered.

 _She's alright, Cell. She's alright._ Renzol brushed off a tear and dove back into the box.

Next was a lighter, cigar cutters, and a pack of the cheap cigars Cell had loved, all duct-taped into a bundle. Renzol took the package out and cut the tape before stuffing them in her hoodie's pocket. Ready to get up, she remembered the 'something extra' Daishi had mentioned. Curiously, she reached back inside.

Her fingers came across a pair of sunglasses she had consigned lost ages ago. In awe, Renzol inspected the shades she had worn on Frag's last operation. They were a little crooked and the lenses were scratched, but they were without a doubt the same shades.

" _For Frag!"_ Foogleman had shouted before lifting the shot glass high above her head.

The memory glowed warmly in Renzol's mind. She slipped the sunglasses on and walked to the window. She turned the handle and the pane cracked open, letting the cool spring winds inside.

Renzol worked methodically, opening the pack of cigars and slipping one out. She smacked her lips at the end, just like she'd seen Cell do countless times, before cutting off the end with the chrome cutters. Lastly, she put the fat brown roll between her lips and brought the lighter up. Late afternoon sun gleamed off its polished surface, making the copper flames along the sides dance and setting the raised Gunner's fist ablaze.

She lit up and took a puff. Too much of the acrid smoke made its way into her lungs, and she coughed violently.

 _Goddammit Cell! How the hell did you do this?_ The coughing fit passed, and Renzol placed the smoking cigar in the corner of her mouth, giving it a playful wiggle.

 _You know we had a platoon pool riding on you being a terminator sent back to kill all aliens!_

The memory made Renzol grin. It had been after an abduction mission where she had almost died: three berserkers and a mechtoid had ambushed them in the back alley of some nameless warehouse. Cell had patrolled the parking lot with her afterwards, smoking her cigar and making it dance in the corner of her mouth.

Renzol was brought back from her memories when the door slammed open, letting in a positively raving Shelly. She bounced from wall-to-wall, gesturing madly with her hands. And she never stopped talking. Her speech consisted of incoherent squeals and yelps and of the occasional _'Daishi!'_ or _'ohmygoditsDAISHI!'._

"Calm down!" Renzol laughed. "Ready for Argentina?"

Shelly stopped her pacing and gave her hair one last pull. "More like ready to _die!_ Finally. In peace." Renzol laughed again, and Shelly gave her a closer look. "You smoke?"

"You're saying you never noticed?" Renzol said and burst out laughing at Shelly's puzzled expression.

The puzzlement was replaced by a predatory smile as Shelly's eyes lit up. "I know what we need: Wine! Wine and cigars and tomorrow – _Argentina! ¡Nos vamos!"_ Not waiting for an answer, she bolted out the door.

Renzol chuckled and faced the window once more. She had no idea what to expect from Argentina but with Shelly pulling her along, the challenges and adventures would likely rival those she had faced in XCOM.

She took another puff, and this time she managed to keep it in the cheeks. She let the smoke out slowly, gazing towards the sun. She felt at ease. She felt like a chapter of her life that had dragged on for far too long was finally coming to a close. She turned her attention inwards.

Where a dark ocean had raged and stormed not too long ago, there resided a small wooden chest. Its lightly colored surface was adorned with simple carvings, and the front clasp was missing its lock.

Whether it had been conscious or not, Renzol had one day woken to the realization that the Box was back. She had called Nolan for a meeting, half sobbing and in panic, but the psychologist hadn't been too worried about it. It was just a representation of her inner feelings, an integral part of her. As long as she stayed on the path she had set on, no demon could sway her from it.

Renzol still found herself stashing her negative emotions inside the Box every once in a while: it was an instinctive defense mechanism for her. But she never let those feelings fester. Before long she would open the Box and let it all out: even if it hurt, even if it brought her soul-crushing anxiety and heartbreak. She refused to go through it all again.

And who knew, maybe one day she would forget to put her feelings inside the Box altogether. Maybe it would just fade away, never to return.

She breathed in and let the smoke out through her nose. It tasted terrible, but she had gone through worse. She smiled as she remembered the good and the bad she had experienced with her brothers and sisters in XCOM.

The world through her shades was tinted brown, just like it had been two years ago on the day that had changed her life forever aboard an alien transport ship. She still had her regrets at times, there was no denying it: she didn't possess the emotional clarity she had before the war, nor was she as determined and strong as she had been during it. But she could live with herself again.

Perhaps that was the greatest strength of all.


End file.
